An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Needle and thread  repair the rips and tears  in daughter's play dress  kiss the tears  and lovingly patch up  the skinned knees  of childhood The years pass she becomes a woman sew ball gowns prom dresses a wedding dress of satin and lace for a special day Towels and kerchiefs for a brand new trousseau quilts and blankets then back to play clothes again for a brand new generation of little ones with grass stains and skinned knees

flowers  are confused  whether it is  spring or  if it is still  the season  of snow one day warm and sunny turns on a dime to become cold and grey the next winds howl tearing off fragile petals scatter them across the poor young grass torrential rain flood and  overrun the unprepared soil and then as if in apology the sun appears again with its loving light

prince among men  known for his wisdom  his unyielding justice  his unwavering loyalty his staunch principles  a hero in the mists  of a forgotten time the bards keep his legend alive through song and story  others try to mimic him  invoke his mighty name chain their questionable legacies to his  but they are pale imitations  of the real figure  who lived and breathed

Soft of voice  modest  in demeanor  speaks only  when spoken to  stays within her sphere  does not interfere  so when the power shifts  she is overlooked  she is not a coward  she just bides her time waits for an opening a bid for freedom to hold her own destiny in her hands

nostalgic for times gone by  a place that  no longer exists  I cannot show  my kids  where I grew up time marches on like leaves that grow in the spring and fall in the autumn and dandelions that drift on the wind only to disappear  my heart is sore  that a piece  of my history  has been taken  away from me an exists only in my own memories

Crushed can served its purpose  taken to be melted down  reconstituted  changed for a newer  different life  a physical change  to house another item but still made to fit the same role and to be broken down into yet another form again  not so different  from our cycle of life  isn't it?